


loquacious

by pedrosmustache



Category: Prospect (2018)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pedrosmustache/pseuds/pedrosmustache
Summary: you’re not normally this expressive.
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader, Ezra (Prospect 2018)/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	loquacious

it’s simple, unrushed this time. 

so often you find your lovemaking with ezra to be born out of frenzy, a need to expel pent up energy after a grueling scavenge. it is rough and dirty and, yes, thoroughly enjoyable, but decidedly unromantic. though there are moments in which he gazes at you with pure adoration amidst the throes of pleasure, that adoration is quickly replaced by a cavernous sort of lust that never seems to dissipate until you are both spent and sated.

this evening, though—this evening, tucked away in your rented room, you are away from danger, away from deadlines, away from everything but the warmth of one another.

and ezra is taking his time.

he sits on the edge of the bed (a bonafide mattress with a luxurious comforter and _two_ pillows!), his feet planted firmly on the floor. you sit on his lap, his length firmly sheathed in your tight core, your arms around his neck, face bent in the crook of his neck as you move slowly against him. your own legs squeeze tight around his hips, drawing him ever closer.

it’s a reprieve, this moment. a reprieve from thirty cycles on an inhospitable moon with other prospectors on your tail and too few resources to go around. you’d gotten the job done, though, and the buyer paid handsomely for all your trouble. 

now, ezra fulfills his softly spoken promise of eighteen cycles ago. he’d promised you rest, a break from the hard work and a moment to catch you breath before moving on to the next job. noxxo seven isn’t the warm, sun-drenched planet you’d hoped for, but it’ll do the trick. so long as you’re with ezra, any place is just fine by you.

the room he’s bought for the next few nights is unique. it feels more like a replica of a pod than a traditional room. oval in shape, complete with white walls and thin carpet, the layout reminds you somewhat of an egg. soft blue lights emanating from the baseboards do little to counteract the gray permeating every corner of the room. noxxo seven’s atmosphere—a thick, heavy cloud of fog—is inescapable, and any sunlight attempting to shine through the veil merely bathes your room in a colorless soft of haze. trees smack against the singular window, pushed by the rushing wind. there’s a storm somewhere outside; you can hear rain pelt the roof of the building. 

everything—the fog, the rain, the dim lighting—pushes you closer to ezra.

neither of you rush to find release. tonight is about the journey. it’s about savoring the feel of ezra in his naked humanity and him exalting in your divine aura. (his words, not yours.)

ezra’s hips barely rut beneath yours. his arms are wrapped tight around your back, his mouth drawing wet paths from your lips to your neck to yours breasts and back again. he can’t be bothered to move faster, to truly thrust in and out, and you really don’t care. the stretch of him is enough for now. 

you sigh, tilting your head away from his neck when his mouth finds your nipple. raking your fingernails through his hair, you smile when he mumbles something against your sweat-slick skin.

“always talking,” you whisper. you swivel your hips lightly, and he grunts in approval, pulling away.

he catches your eye, and you still, trapped in the warmth of his gaze. “i would never be able to exhaust all the writing utensils in the universe were someone to task me with recounting all the ways i adore you, little bird.”

you lift a hand and cradle his chin between your thumb and forefinger, leaning in for a kiss. his lips are soft, his mustache ticklish. you linger in the feel of his mouth on yours: the way he lets you set the pace, humming against your touch.

then he adjusts his feet on the floor—perhaps to get more purchase, perhaps because he’s lost feeling in his toes. whatever the reason, the movement drives his cock a little deeper, a little closer to that one particular spot, and you gasp, clenching around him.

ezra chuckles. “you like that?”

you nod, and he moves again, this time with purpose. one hand comes to grip your hip, the other splayed along the small of your back. he thrusts once, twice, three times. each time you mewl in pleasure. you drop your forehead to his shoulder as he slows once more.

“kevva, erza,” you breathe. you dig your nails in the muscle of his bicep. 

he just snorts in amusement, thrusting upwards again. his pubic bone brushes your clit, and you keen, eyes rolling back in your head.

“ _shit._ you’re so—” you press your lips together to stop yourself.

ezra’s fingers squeeze your hip. “what’s that, my love?” he bucks beneath you at an erratic pace, setting you on edge, uncertain of when or where the next pulse of his cock will strike. “do you have something you’d like to say with those precious lips of yours?”

before you can respond, he kisses you, his mouth a messy slant over yours. he pulls away, gasping for breath as he continuous the slow, torturous drag of his cock in and out, in and out.

your throat seizes, and you lift your head from his shoulder. your mouth falls open on a silent moan. “you just…” you gasp and shudder, shaking your head.

“what is it?” he prods, tone gentle. “tell me.”

he’s egging you on, you know. he can see the way the words sit on the tip of your tongue. he knows you well enough to sense the feelings mounting in the pit of your stomach that you shove down time after time. 

talking—that’s his thing. he’s good at it. no matter the subject, the time, or the place, he can wax poetic. you, on the other hand, aren’t as eloquent. you cannot paint pictures with your words the way he can. you cannot make him crumble with just one phrase the way he does you. so you keep quiet—especially during sex. you cannot compare to him, so you don’t try.

“tell me, bird,” he whispers. he presses his palm to the side of your face. “let me hear you.”

and with one emphatic thrust, he unlocks the floodgates. 

gripping his shoulders, you toss your head back with a wanton moan. “fuck, ezra. you’re so _big._ ”

his hips stutter. he groans, his own forehead dropping to your clavicle. still, he continues pushing in and dragging out. you lift your own hips to help the movement. the evidence of your desire—your love for him—pools at the base of your joined bodies, and you whimper at the sight.

“you fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” you wind your arms tight around his back as you grind against him. “every time you fill me, i think i might burst.”

he growls, pushes a little harder, a little deeper.

“just like that, baby,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from speaking it all, telling him every thought that floats through your lust-clouded mind. “you’re good with your fingers and even better with your tongue, but _fucking fuck_ —i want you all the time. like this, any way, i don’t care. i just love the feel of you and—” you whimper again. “touch me, ezra. ‘m close.”

ezra remains silent as he removes the hand from your back to press his thumb against your clit. he rubs the nub in sweet, gentle circles, and tears spring to your eyes.

“oh shit, that feels so good.” 

if it is at all possible, you press yourself tighter against him as you clamor for your release. your hips move wildly against his, his fingers now rough against your clit. he huffs in your ear, and the sound drives you mad.

you can feel it rising like the tide in your stomach: the clench, the fluttering, the ultimate burst of pleasure.

in an instant, you clamp down, crying out against his shoulder as you come. ezra just keeps going, leading you through your high until you begin to settle.

then he moves.

in one fluid motion, he has you pinned to the mattress, one leg flung over his shoulder. sweat drips from his forehead as he drives into you, deeper still at this new angle. the sound of skin against skin brings a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you grip his arms for support.

you lift a hand to smooth back the little patch of blond hair clinging to his forehead. “fuck me so good, baby,” you mumble, the outline of another orgasm slurring your words.

he comes without warning, a guttural groan tearing through his throat as he releases inside of you. the feeling is enough to send you over the edge once more.

for a moment, as you both regain your breath, he lays his head against your chest. you hold him, your eyes fluttering shut as you swallow past your dry throat. 

“i can hear your heart beat like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.”

you startle at the sound of his voice. it’s been—what?—quite some time since you last heard him speak. a new record.

you don’t say anything, and he pulls out, moving to sit on his knees. he grunts at the sight of your mingled juices spilling from your core. with two long fingers, he scoops what he can from the bed and slips it within you.

you laugh and wiggle against the feel of his fingers. “what do you think you’re doing?”

he looks up through his lashes. “merely putting my seed where it belongs.”

satisfied, he goes to the fresher and returns with a damp cloth, wiping you down. he smirks and lifts an eyebrow as he works, his touch languid and unhurried. “you are quite loquacious when you want to be.”

“you are quite tight-lipped when you want to be.”

“i must admit your words stunned me to silence, which is a rare occurrence, as you well know.” he pauses his ministrations, meets your eyes. “but i would go to the pits of hell and back to hear you speak like that again. i would let my tongue be cut from my mouth if it meant—”

rising, you shut him up with your mouth on his. you kiss him until your lungs scream for air. you pull back, your hand pressed to his knee. “i’d be upset if you lost your tongue. it’s one of your greatest assets.”

“so i’ve been told.” he squeezes the curve of your ass, and a line of concern appears between his brows. “you must use your words, dear one. i long to know every thought that crosses your mind, especially when i am sheathed inside of you.”

you run your hand along his chest. “even if i’m not as… pretty as you are?”

he shakes his head. “i have never seen someone so illustrious.” 

“i mean with my words.”

“your words are like honey, each one a magnificent drop in its own right, but electrifyingly sweet when swirled together.”

laughing, you fall to your back against the comforter, reveling in the silky fabric against your bare skin. “ezra, you should be a poet.”

he lowers himself to your side and runs his fingertips along your stomach. “only if you remain my muse.”

you circle your fingers around his. “always.”

outside, the storm rages, but inside, you bask in the moment of peace. in a few day’s time, you will be back in the field, working once more for rich men willing to pay for your skill and effort. but for now—for now you lie nestled against your love, desire sated, unyielding affection coursing through your veins.

you snuggle closer to ezra, and he slips his arms around your waist, drawing you to his chest. 

tomorrow’s worries can wait.


End file.
